Human
by Heroes Fly-Minho's Hero Limps
Summary: HELLFIRE ONE-SHOT: Minho is amused. Newt is confused.
-Human-

-So this little one-shot is for OH BLOODY INSPIRED on Instagram! The idea was all yours, so I hope you enjoy this story about our favorite human and his demon ;). Reviews are very appreciated! Thanks for reading!-

"...I don't understand why we're doing this."

Minho laughed, his fingers currently combing through the silky golden tinsel of Newt's hair. "Because it's...I dunno, it's fun for me," he answered, shrugging.

The demon folded his arms over his chest, a dubious expression on his face. "Why is this fun? Do humans always do this to each other? I will never understand your species."

Grinning, Minho chuckled again. Tonight, he was playing with Newt's hair. He'd insisted on brushing it first and then attempting a braid (although Newt's hair was way too short to braid properly, it was long enough to fall into his eyes, so he could manage). He was sitting behind Newt on the couch, legs on either side of Newt, who sat in front of him. The couch's soft fabric was bright scarlet; it had been white yesterday. Minho had noticed that colors changed frequently in this mansion, especially in Newt's room. Maybe they changed with his moods...

Anyway, he was pretty amused by the fact that Newt had no clue why they were bothering with this. There were a thousand other things the demon would rather be doing. And well, okay, Minho would be lying if he said some of those things weren't tempting.

"Why are we wasting time with this?" Newt asked, fingering the hem of the long-sleeved, black shirt he wore. "We should watch one of those human movies you have. Or get something to eat."

"We already ate," Minho pointed out. His fingertips curled deftly around Newt's hair, choosing the strands he would try to braid. "And I don't feel like watching a movie. Be patient."

"Ugh." Sighing, Newt rested a hand on Minho's knee. When he spoke, there was a smirk in his voice. "What if we did something else...?" He ran his hand up and down Minho's thigh, warming the denim of his jeans.

Minho bit down a small sound at the contact. "Try to behave," he chastised, giving Newt's hair a tug. Newt grumbled to himself and Minho smiled at the blonde's disappointment. "How about this? If you can figure out why humans like playing with hair so much..." Trailing off, he leaned in and whispered in Newt's ear, "I'll let you do whatever you want to me."

No sound came from the demon, because Newt constantly tried to keep that composed exterior. But Minho knew him too well by now. He could feel that telltale tensing of Newt's body, the anticipation that rushed into the demon's being at his voice. Minho loved that he could have that affect on an otherworldly demon. He waited smugly as Newt took a breath. "Very well," he decided, voice still enrapturing but with an unsteady edge to it.

"Okay. Start guessing." Resting his back against the couch cushions again, Minho resumed his braiding. A tiny braid was appearing in Newt's hair, glowing gold in the lamplight thrown across the two of them. He wondered how many guesses Newt would take until he found the very simple answer...

"It's what human mates do to each other," Newt guessed, his words too confident to be questioning.

Minho paused as he considered that. "Well, I guess they do sometimes, but that's not the real answer."

"Damn."

"Keep trying," Minho singsonged. He was enjoying himself. Teasing Newt was unbearably fun. He finished his little braid and admired it for a few moments.

Newt's shoulders slumped in front of him as he tried to think of his next guess. The flat screen by the fireplace (now icy blue stone instead of the obsidian it'd been two days ago) hummed out a commercial about demonic perfumes. There was some time passed before Newt tried again: "it's a show of affection in general."

Again, Minho had to think about that one. "Well, yes," he admitted, and Newt gave a sharp intake of breath. "BUT," Minho added firmly, "that's still not the real reason we do it."

"Oh, Minho, why must we do this?" Newt complained. Twisting around a bit, he was able to glare at Minho over his shoulder, indigo irises glowing. "I hate when you play games with me. I'm the demon here, remember?"

Crossing his arms, Minho relaxed against the couch and raised his eyebrows. "Oh and you think that gives you some power over me?"

"Yes."

"You're wrong." Cocky, Minho raised his hands up in a languid stretch, showing off the pull of muscle in his arms; the hem of his maroon shirt lifted to show a slice of skin at his waist. He caught the soft whimper Newt made and the demon's hand reaching for him, maybe to curl in his neckline. "Izikk," he warned, and Newt stopped dead with a growl. His fingertips just barely inched beneath the hem of Minho's shirt. "You still have to guess."

"Foolish little human," Newt muttered.

"Uh-huh." Minho twirled a finger, indicating that Newt should turn back around. "Turn around. And take your hand out of my shirt."

Newt's eyes flashed. "Make me," he purred, hand slipping up to splay across Minho's stomach.

Stifling a gasp at those sinful fingers on his skin, Minho arched a brow. "Izikk, take your hand out of my shirt," he said lightly, using Newt's true name.

"Dammit." Reluctant, Newt pulled his hand away and turned back to face front again. "I wish humans had true names," he mumbled. "You would've been begging at my feet by now."

"Wonderful," Minho remarked sarcastically. He pulled loose Newt's braid and started to comb his fingers through that spun sugar hair again. It was too-soft to the touch and smelled of brimstone. Minho fought the urge to nuzzle into Newt's neck and breathe in. "Guess again."

"Hmmm." Newt thought. "It shows your values of beauty."

"Um, no."

"It entertains you."

"Yes, but not the answer I want."

"It's how you pass the time."

"No."

"For the love of—!" Minho grinned crookedly as Newt whipped around again, straddling one of Minho's knees. His hands were planted on either side of Minho's head now, the frustration evident in his perfect features. There was a war of want, longing, and overwhelming annoyance in his eyes. "Bloody hell, Minho, what is it?" he demanded.

Minho shook his head denyingly, shrinking back against the couch. "You're gonna be really mad when I tell you..."

"I don't care, it is pure torture waiting to get my hands on you," Newt flashed back. "What is it?"

Lifting his shoulders up in a little shrug, Minho tried for an apologetic smile. "It just feels nice," he confessed at last.

Newt stared at him. "It just...feels nice," he echoed slowly, a blank confusion in his words.

Nodding, Minho let his smile widen. "Yeah. Um, that's it. We think it feels nice when people play with our hair."

"...that is the most idiotic concept I've ever heard of."

"I knew you'd be mad," Minho snickered, and then he saw Newt's flat look directed his way. He couldn't help but laugh out loud, caught up in his small victory over a powerful demon. He'd fooled Newt without even trying. That was priceless. "You should've seen your face," he snorted.

Newt watched him, an intense look lighting in his eyes. One of his hands cupped Minho's jaw and the human blinked at the smoothness of Newt's skin. "But I have the answer now," he pointed out suggestively. His gaze ran over Minho's body underneath his. "Which means I can do whatever I want to you."

"No," Minho chuckled. When Newt bent his head for a kiss, Minho placed a finger at the blonde's lips. The demon's eyes widened slightly. "You didn't guess it. I told you. So you get nothing."

A glint of mischief flickered in those bright blue eyes. "Darling thing, I can make you want to give all you have to me without lifting a finger," Newt murmured, lips grazing Minho's finger.

A jolt skittered up Minho's arm. But he refused to give in just yet. "How do you know?"

A wicked smirk curved Newt's lips. "I've done it before."

Oh damn him and that look; the look that spoke of their every night together in this mansion, in these walls, in Newt's bed... Minho gulped. He was in trouble. "You—" He broke off. He'd gone to pull his hand away, but Newt had caught him by the wrist. Slowly, Newt slipped his hand up to hold Minho's. His thumb began rubbing circles into Minho's palm and drew all of Minho's attention to that one point of contact. He nearly melted into the couch cushions. When Newt lowered his head and kissed the place where Minho's pulse beat in his wrist, Minho let out a whimper.

"Newt," Minho said breathlessly.

Newt grinned because he'd won. "Ask me for it."

"Kiss me."

Newt released Minho's wrist and then his mouth was pressed to Minho's so hard, he barely found air to breathe. Newt's lips parted his own, his tongue tasting of fire and ashes, and Minho wanted it, wanted this, forever. Newt kissed him like all of the world was crumbling, teasing and forceful at the same time. His hand wandered up Minho's chest over his shirt, curling around the back of his neck. The knee between Minho's slid up on the couch, until it pressed in between his legs. Leaning up into the kiss, into every touch, Minho moaned against Newt's mouth. "Please, Newt," he gasped out between kisses, clinging to the sides of Newt's shirt.

"Look who's begging now," Newt crooned. "What do you want then, my love? Should I take you back to our bedroom?" Then he slipped a hand down to undo Minho's jeans. His voice was a dark whisper. "Or should I ruin you here?"

"Ah—" Minho bit his lip when he felt Newt's fingers move from opening his jeans, hooking in his shirt. As they peeled the fabric up his body, he began to lose all sanity. "I d—don't care, I just...want you so much—"

"Not the answer I was looking for," Newt teased. "But I'll accept it." He coaxed Minho's arms up above his head and tore his shirt off. Tossing it somewhere in the room, he smoothed his fingers along Minho's strong shoulders. At his mate's desperate whine, he brought his mouth to Minho's throat.

Minho couldn't think straight, hell, he could hardly see straight. How had he ever thought he could resist Newt? He felt lightheaded as the demon kissed his neck, pricking his skin ever so slightly with his fangs. The small touches made him crazy and he rolled his hips up against Newt's knee with a sigh. A choked sound came from Newt as Minho continued to grind on him, hands at Newt's waist and his body moving as fluidly as water. "Min," Newt managed, drawing back and leaning their foreheads together. "You can't begin to know the effect that has on me."

Half of a breathless grin quirked Minho's lips. Newt's way of speaking was wonderful, the way he'd confess every emotion to Minho so deliciously when they made love. "Please," he scoffed through hard breaths. "I know exactly what this does to you." He arched his back up, getting his jeans to slip down and show a glimpse of his waistband underneath.

A mewl escaped Newt at the sight. One of his hands skimmed down Minho's chest, then his stomach, stopping just before his waistband. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmured quietly. Minho released an exhale at the words and leaned up to kiss at Newt's neck. Dropping his head to the side in bliss, Newt groaned. "The most beautiful, incredible thing, and oh Minho, I want you always..."

"Getting sentimental?" Minho asked in a mumble against Newt's throat.

"So what if I am?" Newt's voice was heavy with want, hinting that he hardly cared that the human saw him like this. His hands snagged in his shirt and he pulled it off, muscles lean beneath the ivory skin. Minho pressed his palms to the small of Newt's back and tugged him forward; he kissed up Newt's chest to his collarbone and Newt gasped raggedly. The sound lit flames in Minho's skin. Feeling bold, he bit down on the smooth skin of Newt's shoulder, at the same time he tugged open Newt's belt buckle and dipped a hand inside his jeans. Newt's head fell back in pleasure, hips arching forward on their own.

"Ahh—Minho—" Stammering, Newt dropped his head down to nuzzle into Minho's neck. His breath huffed out when Minho's palm moved against him in the way he knew drove Newt mad. "Please...st—stop...teasing me—"

Minho smirked, taking Newt's earlobe between his teeth. "You know, you fall apart awfully fast for a powerful demon," he murmured. Then he blinked when Newt took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand from Newt's jeans.

"I think you've had enough fun," Newt breathed, the growl in his voice sending hot coils somewhere deep inside of Minho. His clawed fingertips trailed down Minho's sides to hook into the waistband of his boxers. Minho shuddered at the demon's cool touch at his hips. He couldn't stifle a gasp when Newt lifted his hips up by his belt loops and stripped all of his clothing down his legs.

"Newt," he stuttered out as cool air met his now-bare skin. His jeans were bunched around his knees and he swallowed hard. The demon was testing him now and he felt deliciously nervous. Newt could be simply sinful like this, giving perfect touches and cooing soft words that would break Minho's sanity piece by piece. Even now, he was resting his forehead against Minho's and dropping his voice to a husky murmur.

"You don't know how much I feel for you, Minho," Newt whispered, breath tickling Minho's lips and making him ache inside. "You turn me into something weaker than I ever wanted to be."

Minho took a breath to reply, but choked on the words when one of Newt's hands slid between his legs. "Oh my God," he bit out, forgetting that Newt didn't always like it when he used that name. But the demon didn't comment on it. He only moved his hand again, making Minho's entire body jerk with a bolt of ecstasy.

Newt watched the sun-kissed curve of Minho's throat as his head tipped backward, admired every way the muscles flexed beneath his skin when he moved. His eyes on Minho was a physical touch. "Look at you," Newt whispered. "You're gorgeous, so damn gorgeous. My darling, I would destroy the universe for you. I'd give you anything you want." He stole a long, hot kiss from Minho's lips, just long enough to make him moan. Between the taste of Newt on his tongue and Newt's hands on him, Minho was quickly reduced to a mess on the couch.

"Please," he begged. It was all he seemed capable of saying. Newt's slender fingers did something to him that tore a filthy noise from his mouth. Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing would ever feel the way Newt felt. Minho's eyelids fluttered as stars began to spin in his vision.

"Look at me." Newt's index finger skimmed down Minho's cheek. "I want to see your eyes, when you..." He never finished his sentence. Minho opened his eyes and found Newt's very close to his, the soft curves of his mouth inches away. He kept them open as long as he could, panting as Newt drove him to his limit. He could barely stay still with the pleasure radiating from his center. But there was only so much he could take; he shut his eyes again and when his back arched on its own, he cried out. He felt a shudder rack Newt's figure.

"I love you," Newt gasped out, and crushed their mouths together before Minho could move. Groaning into Newt's mouth, Minho shifted when Newt's hands closed on his waist to pull him toward the couch cushions.

They sank down onto the couch together, in a tangle of limbs and forgotten clothes.

For the next hour, neither was capable of speaking.


End file.
